


how bittersweet this would taste

by orthogonals



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Caring Merlin, Drunk Arthur, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, background gwen/arthur - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 16:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19890877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orthogonals/pseuds/orthogonals
Summary: “No…” Arthur fumbled, the words falling heavy from his lips. “Not sleepy. Stay?” He peers at Merlin with wide blue eyes, his face open and hopeful, and damn— as if Merlin could ever resist Arthur like this, with walls down and posture loose and pretense dropped. As if he’d want to.-OR: It's the night before Gwen and Arthur's marriage, and Arthur has a bit too much to drink. As always, Merlin's there for him.





	how bittersweet this would taste

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've written anything really narrative, so this might read a bit clunky. But who doesn't love some drunk!fic? Title from Adele's "Someone Like You," which I've incidentally also giffed with Merlin [here](https://gossamerintrovert.tumblr.com/post/186401311539/but-nevermind-ill-find-someone-like-you-i-wish).

“Jusff—” Arthur pauses to let out a belch, sagging bodily onto Merlin’s thin frame. Raising up a limp arm in a half-hearted gesture, he swings it around jerkily and nearly clocks Merlin’s head in the process.

“Justtt that way Merlin.” Satisfied that he had managed the words, Arthur abruptly lets his arm drop, leaning against Merlin’s shoulder with a dopey grin. Merlin only sighs, readjusting his grip around Arthur’s waist and shifting his dead weight into a more comfortable position.

“I know where your chambers are, Arthur.” Merlin allows himself a brief eye roll, secure in the knowledge that Arthur was too far gone to notice. “But I can’t carry you up the stairs. You’ve got to help me out, okay?” Arthur gave no indication that he had heard Merlin, instead lolling his head around to wave sloppily at a guard who had just walked past.

“Hey!” Merlin tugs sharply at the arm Arthur has slung around his shoulders. “Prat. Are you listening?”

“Yes. Climb stairs. Got it.” Arthur grins, squeezing Merlin’s shoulder. “You’re so…tense. Cheer up!” He pats Merlin’s cheek, eliciting a grunt of frustration and resignation. “Tomorrow, Camelot will finally have a Queen.” Arthur pronounces the words with rounded lips, his features settling into a blissed-out expression.

“Gods, I really am going to have to haul you up the stairs.” Merlin pokes Arthur’s stomach. “You’re not light, you know.” At that, Arthur looks at Merlin, his face twisted in confusion.

“Are you calling me fat?”

And Merlin surmises that if Arthur could still recognize an insult to his royal person, then he was damn well enough to get up the stairs.

*

Arthur clutches at the back of his chair for support as Merlin pushes him out of his grip.

Merlin didn’t know Arthur as the type to overindulge, especially at court feasts, but he supposes that the current circumstances justified any excessive celebration well enough. Morgana hadn’t been seen for months, not after she’d fled from the castle in defeat. And in peace, Camelot had flourished and flowered. Day by day, Merlin had watched as the poor and powerful alike turned towards Arthur with bright smiles and eyes full of stars, and he thinks there’s something seriously wrong in how swollen his heart grows with pride.

And tomorrow, a wedding revived, a coronation far too long delayed. He grows soft at the thought of Gwen, all dark eyes and full curls and patience and kindness, taking her destined place next to Arthur on the throne. Gwen, the stammering, shy girl Merlin had flirted with on the stocks and sent to the cells and saved from the stake. No one could hope to make a better queen, and if a tiny bit of him aches—the part that knows a piece of Arthur would belong only to Gwen and never to Merlin—well, he steadfastly ignores it.

Arthur stumbles again, sending papers flying to the floor as he sweeps clumsy hands across his desk in search of purchase. Finally grabbing onto a corner and steadying himself, he looks to Merlin with a happy smile, as if expecting a compliment. Merlin snorts.

“I’d normally draw a bath for you, but with the state you’re in, I don’t trust you not to drown.” Merlin pauses, assessing the situation. “Shall I help you into your bedclothes? Sire?” Standing with one hip cocked and arms crossed, Merlin glares down at Arthur, looking the picture of an annoyed nanny.

“No…” Arthur fumbled, the words falling heavy from his lips. “Not sleepy. Stay?” He peers at Merlin with wide blue eyes, his face open and hopeful, and damn— as if Merlin could ever resist Arthur like this, with walls down and posture loose and pretense dropped. As if he’d want to.

“Alright,” Merlin concedes, placing a steadying hand on Arthur’s shoulder and lowering him down on his chair. “Have any chores for me? The sword? The floors? The hearth?”

“Juuust. Sit.” Arthur commands, putting on a face of fond exasperation that may have been a tad adorable. Holding back another eye roll, Merlin obediently perches down on the floor and waits, wondering what an inebriated Arthur could want with Merlin.

Seeing that Merlin had followed his direction, Arthur quiets, settling into a hazy silence as his eyes turn glassy, lips curling into a soft smile. Merlin taps his fingers against his knee, waiting for Arthur to address him, but Arthur just relaxes into his daze, resting his chin on his palm. Seconds blend into minutes, the two men sitting across one another, only the occasional croak and chirp of wildlife sounding out as background.

With Arthur lost in his head, Merlin takes the rare opportunity to observe. He covers Arthur with his gaze, tracing the golden fringes of his hair, the regal bridge of his nose, the slight pout of his lips. And with every sweep of his eyes, he sends Arthur, husband-to-be, bittersweet well wishes.

 _You’d better live long and travel far with Gwen, Arthur. Tomorrow, you’ll be hers. And after that, I promise, I_ swear _, that I’ll never again look at you and think thoughts only Gwen should. You have my word._

And Merlin’s quite adamant, even if he’s not sure who he’s swearing to— Arthur or himself.

The moments stretch like molasses, Arthur off in his own world, Merlin letting himself, for one last time, look at Arthur as a lover would.

Arthur’s voice breaks the silence, and Merlin snaps back into focus.

“Gwen’s so beautiful, don’t you think, Merlin?” Arthur’s face looks cracked open with joy, happiness sparking out in rays, and Merlin’s heart lurches in acceptance. No doubt what Arthur had reminisced about in his earlier stupor.

“Yes. She is a remarkable woman, and you are a lucky man,” Merlin allows, careful to agree without offending.

“She’s pretty, she’s strong, she’s… perfect.” Arthur continues, his brightness suddenly subdued as he looks at Merlin. “But why- ?” Abruptly, he cuts off, squinting at Merlin like a particularly hard to solve problem.

“Yes, sire?”

“It’s nothing,” Arthur snaps, but his words lacked bite. “You can prepare me for bed.” He sounded suddenly a bit more sober.

*

“Raise your hands a bit higher— there we go.” Merlin expertly pulls the tunic atop Arthur’s frame, tugging at the bottom to smooth out wrinkles. He secretly thinks that Arthur makes Merlin help dress him just so he can laugh when Merlin struggles, but Merlin likes this sometimes, likes preening Arthur like a proud mother hen.

When he looks down, Arthur’s already staring at him from where he sits on the edge of his mattress, an odd expression on his face.

“You’re pretty.” The words seem to slip out without Arthur’s notice, and he immediately reels back, sputtering. “I meant— I—”

Merlin’s heart, gone still at the sudden admission, picks up double speed. What if— maybe— was it possible? That maybe sometimes, Arthur too saw Merlin with eyes tinted gold? But— and Merlin steels himself— what good were useless words from an intoxicated king?

“Arthur,” Merlin says slowly. “It’s okay. You’re drunk. You didn’t mean it.” Arthur’s face looked pinched, but he nods mutely.

“Just go to sleep, okay? Big day tomorrow.” He stoops down, lays his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, meaning to help ease him into bed.

And suddenly, they’re face to face, nose to nose, blue clashing on blue. If he wanted to, Merlin could count the freckles on Arthur’s nose, name each individual eyelash from where they fan out against his skin. Arthur’s breath eddies out in a wisp, and Merlin’s tongue unconsciously darts across his bottom lip, wetting a trail across the pink flesh. Arthur’s gaze drops, and he leans in, almost spellbound.

Merlin knows that he could. They’re close enough that their breath mingles in the space between them, rising in warmth and heating their faces. Arthur and Merlin. Merlin and Arthur. Even the air seems to announce it, trumpeting the words and flowing out to leave only vacuum separating their lips. He could let Arthur chase away the last bit of distance with his mouth, could bring his hands up to clutch at Arthur’s stupid blonde hair when they kissed.

Arthur brings himself in further, pupils blown wide and heartbeat heavy in anticipation.

And his lips make contact with Merlin’s cheek.

The unexpected feel of skin seems to jolt Arthur back to reality, and he wrenches himself backward, flushed red and panting.

“Merlin! I’m sorry—” Arthur gasps out, eyes widening in panic.

Spots of pink decorate Merlin’s cheekbones and the tips of his ears. He places a hand back on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Remember what I said? You’re drunk. You need sleep.” Nodding firmly, Merlin guides a still mortified Arthur back down onto the bed. Sighing, he lifts the edge of the sheets, gently placing them over Arthur's body, vulnerable in the moonlight.

Arthur watches Merlin, brows crinkled and face still tinted with color.

Knowing he would regret it come morning, Merlin runs a hand softly through Arthur’s hair, giving him a small smile that seemed far too sad.

“Goodnight, Arthur. Sleep well.” He brings his hand down, fingertips lingering for a moment on Arthur’s cheek, then stands.

Arthur’s eyes are still on him when he leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](https://orthogonals.tumblr.com)!


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